


The Sky Comes Crashing Down

by kathkin



Series: sky comes crashing down [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dark fic, Dehumanisation, M/M, Suicide, Torture, Triggers, everything is horrible essentially, seriously unethical medical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-10
Updated: 2009-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/4920.html?thread=1899832#t1899832">this prompt</a> at <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/"></a><b>kinkme_merlin</b>: <i>Arthur is a researcher who does crude experiments on captured sorcerers. When he slowly begins to see Merlin as another human, he also starts to question the ethics of his research.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [](http://heriros.livejournal.com/profile)[**heriros**](http://heriros.livejournal.com/). Now has a [soundtrack ](http://dayari.livejournal.com/85388.html)by the amazing [](http://dayari.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dayari.livejournal.com/)**dayari**

It’s eight o’clock at night , and Arthur is enjoying a cup of coffee and the newspaper (eleven hours since he bought it, and he only just found the time to read it, find out what’s actually happening outside of the confines of the lab) when the screaming starts.

 

He ignores it for a few minutes – assumes it’s just coming from one of the caged subjects, and they tire of noise quickly – but when it doesn’t stop, he throws down his paper, slams down his mug, and marches towards the door of his office.

 

“What the _hell_ is that?” he snaps at Owain, the tech at the computer desk outside.  
 

Owain yawns. “New subject,” he says. “They’re just bringing it in for processing. They’ll want you ever there soon enough, Doctor.”

 

And sure enough, the moment the words are out of his mouth Arthur’s pager goes off. He can hardly hear it over the screams, but he can feel the vibration. He groans, runs a hand through his hair, and heads for the processing room.

 

*

 

The subject is a mad flurry of limbs and dark hair and _oh no no oh God no_ , so Arthur can’t tell anything much about it. He’s not even sure, when he first steps into the room, if it’s male or female.

 

“Having some trouble securing this one, Doctor.” says Lance. He’s wearing a pair of thick gloves (that’s important, because a lot of the subjects can get a hold over you if you touch them, or they hear your real name, or anything like that). “But we’ll get it. I sent a tech to fetch a sedative.”

 

“Good thinking,” says Arthur. He takes another sip of his coffee and turns to look at the subject again. They have its legs strapped down, but its arms are reaching out in desperation, clawing at the air. He shudders. “Details?”

 

“Subject is male, designated M34,” says Lance. “We have visual readings of tele and pyrokinesis, but nothing definite. No scans yet. This seems like a dangerous one, though, so I’m thinking we do it tonight.”

 

Arthur sighs. Great. He’s not going to get to read his paper till after midnight, and by then it’ll be tomorrow, so what’s the point? “Get it sedated,” he says. “Get it tied down. Get the readings. And do it quickly, will you?”

 

An orderly manages to get one of the subject’s arm’s tied down, but the other is reaching out towards Arthur. “I said _quickly!_ Before it –”

 

Too late. The subject’s eyes flash – an inhuman shade of yellow – and the room is filled with splintering cracks. Arthur’s coffee mug shatters in his hand; an orderly’s glasses crack apart, glittering shards showering down across their lab coat. The light bulb flickers, but holds together. He smiles. Looks like the reinforced light fittings were a good idea after all.

 

The creature sinks back down, holds still for a moment, and the orderly takes the chance to grab its other arm and wrestle it into the restraints. But that just sets him struggling anew. He screams again. Arthur thinks maybe he catches the word _please_ amongst the gibberish.

 

Then the door bursts open and a tech runs in, coat and curly hair streaming out behind her. “I’m sorry!” she said. “The man in the chemical store shouted at me for coming in so late, and then he was so _slow_ , and I told him it was urgent, but – ”  
 

Arthur holds up a hand. “Yes, yes, whatever,” he says. He takes note of the number on her coat. He’ll have to talk to her later. This won’t do. “Sedate it,” he says to Lance.

 

The other doctor nods and takes the syringe in shaking hands. Arthur wonders what else this creature’s managed to do. It seems like a particularly violent one.  
 

It almost gets out of its restraints three times while Lance is trying to sedate it. In the end it takes both orderlies leaning on it, holding it down. Then at last the needle slides into its neck smoothly, as if it were butter, and Arthur smiles.

 

“At last,” he says. The creature whimpers, once, then goes limp in the restraints. “Let’s get started,” he says. He holds out a hand. “Gloves.” Lance hands him a pair. He nods at the curly-haired tech. “Get the scanner set up.” She nods, and rushed for the control panel.

 

“Do you want blood samples yet, Doctor?” says Lance.

 

“Not just yet,” he says, pulling on the gloves. He walks over to the table and prods at the creature’s shoulder, making sure it’s definitely sedated (they’ve been known to fake it. Clever little buggers, some of them). Then he lifts its file.

 

Male. Around nineteen. Caught after using its powers in a fight on a university campus. He supposes it must have been a student, and shudders at the thought. There’s some contact details for the creature’s family. He’ll have to have them brought in tomorrow, make sure they’re not...

 

“The scanner’s ready, Doctor,” says the tech. He looks up. She has her hand on the lever, ready to start it up. He rolls his eyes and walks over.

 

“Are you sure that’s the right setting?” he says, peering at the dials.

 

“Yes, Doctor,” she said. “I mean, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but – well, I think I did it all right –”

 

She did as well. It all looks more or less perfect. He glares at the dials. Adjusts a few very slightly, then steps back. “Proceed.” She smiles, nods, and pulls the lever.

 

The scanner suspended over the table begins to hum. Then the creature yelps and arches upwards, panting, straining, eyes rolling up into its head. Arthur wonders for a fleeting moment what it feels like.

 

“Well?” he says to Lance.  
 

“It’s a powerful one,” says Lance from by the screen. “Top quarter, definitely. We’ll probably want to keep it sedated most of the time. Can’t make a more certain reading, though.”

 

“Next level, then,” Arthur says to the tech. She nods, and twists a dial.

 

The humming increases in pitch. The creature slumps down, twitching, lets out soft little sounds of pain.

 

“I’m getting… seventeen point five. Seventeen point five nine. Might as well make it a point six,” says Lance, typing away. He glances over his shoulder at Arthur. “Highest I’ve ever seen, Doctor.”

 

“I look forward to opening it up, then,” says Arthur. He nods at the tech. “Level three, please.”

 

The humming becomes a high-pitched whine that sets his teeth on edge. The creature’s eyes fall closed. He hears a sound that might have been a whimper, but quickly turns his attention to the graphs appearing on the screen.

 

“These are incredible, Doctor,” says Lance excitedly. “Come take a look.”

 

The graphs all peak at roughly the same level, something he’d never seen before. “It could do just about anything,” says Lance. “Don’t you think?”

 

“It’s certainly going to be a valuable subject,” says Arthur. He tries to keep the emotion out of his voice. He can’t wait to show these results to his father. This could change _everything_. “But I doubt we could afford to keep something that dangerous around for long.”

 

“Sir?” says the tech behind him. “Sir, can I turn this off now?”

 

He turns to look at her. The creature is shaking now, interspersed with erratic, violent jerks of movement. It’s an alarming sight. The kind of thing which forces him to remind new researchers that none of the subjects are really people. But he knows that by now, of course.

 

“Hmm?” he says. “Oh, yes. Turn it off. Then get it into storage. This is enough for tonight. We can open it up tomorrow. See what’s going on in there.”

 

*

 

 

He arrives at work the next morning, fresh newspaper clutched in hand, to find a message from his father blinking on the screen of his computer.

 

 _Results of tests received. Do as much research as you can in a fortnight. Then terminate the subject immediately. It’s not worth the risks_.

 

He nods – he didn’t expect anything else – taps out a quick reply, then heads for the operating room.

 

The subject is strapped out on the table, awake but immobile – the only part of it that’s moving is its eyes. They roam frantically back and forth before alighting on Arthur, staring at him pleadingly.

 

“Please,” it gasps out, voice hoarse. “Don’t –”

 

Arthur motions at the nearest orderly. “Gag it,” he says. It doesn’t actually matter that much – they can do this without – but the screaming is distracting. This subject hasn’t been around long enough to lose the fight in it.

 

Gag or no gag, the sound it makes as the scalpel slides in is definitely audible, if muffled. Arthur can feel muscles flexing beneath his gloved hands as it tries to move, to get away, but doesn’t react. He opens its chest up from neck to navel (the first few subjects they’d tried his on had died, but they’ve solved that problem now. It’s just like surgery now), hands the scalpel back to the nearest tech, and pulls it open.

 

“Rib spreader,” he says, holding out a hand.

 

*

 

By the end of it the creature is still and silent, eyes screwed tight shut. Arthur thinks perhaps it makes a slight sound as the last stitch is pulled tight, but he might be imagining things.

 

“Right,” he says, stepping back and peeling off his gloves. “Time for a break, then. We’ll start on the rest of the tests later.”

 

As they leave the room, he thinks he catches a glimpse of a tear slipping down from the corner of its eye, but he’s probably imagining it. He’s _definitely_ imagining the strange sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

*

 

They take blood samples after their tea break, and send them off to be analysed. They discover that the creature responds well to electroshock treatment – levitates everything in the room in its desperate throes – just before lunch.

 

In the afternoon, they leave it sedated and strapped to the table, and bring in its mother.

 

She’s darkhaired and stonyfaced, glaring at Arthur over his desk as he sits down. She speaks before he can even greet her.

 

“I want to see my son.”

 

“I’m afraid that’s not possibly, Mrs Emrys,” he says, folding his hands in front of him. “The subject is in a secure unit at present. The only people allowed in are –”

 

“I’m his mother!” she says. “I’m the only family he has! Doesn’t that mean _anything?_ ”

 

“Not when it comes to our test subjects,” he says. “No.”

 

“Can you tell me what you’re doing to him?” she says.

 

“That’s classified,” says Arthur without a thought.

 

“Of course it is,” she says. She’s clutching her handbag on her lap, knuckles white. “I should have guessed. Am I even allowed to know if he’s still alive?”

 

“Well, yes,” says Arthur. “We wouldn’t dispose of such a valuable test subject so quickly –”

 

“ _Test subject?_ ” she snaps. “ _Test subject?_ That’s my _son_ in there!” She points out towards the lab with a shaking hand.

 

“Your son is dead, Mrs Emrys,” says Arthur. “He’s been dead for years, I’m afraid. That creature isn’t him. It isn’t even human. It’s violent, and it’s dangerous, and I am keeping it secured.” She opens her mouth to speak, but he holds up a hand, stops her. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have to escort you to the processing room for a quick test. It’s required, I’m afraid.”

 

She glares at him, but complies. He supposes she’s hoping she might catch a glimpse of the creature she sees as her son.

 

*

 

She turns to him as he’s walking her to the doors afterwards. “He’s not a monster,” she says. “Whatever you say. You’ll never make me believe that. And he’ll be let out of here. I’ll see to it.”

 

She seems calm, but she’s shaking visibly. Arthur thinks she’ll probably cry once she’s alone. She reminds him a little of his sister. But his sister’s dead.

 

“This will be a lot easier for you if you accept this, Mrs Emrys,” he says. He holds the door open for her. She leaves without another word.

 

He rolls his eyes. He hates dealing with family.

 

*

 

He’s scheduled that night to be a period of observation, and he doesn’t trust anyone else with this subject, so he does it himself. He sits at a little table in the observation room with a cup of coffee and an entire packet of chocolate digestives, watching it.  
 

For the first couple of hours, it just lies on its side, eyes screwed shut, lips moving a little every now and again. He looks as if he might be praying, but Arthur knows that isn’t possible.

 

He’s almost dozed off when the creature speaks. Its voice is so soft and hoarse that Arthur can barely make it out.

 

“Hurts,” it croaks. Then it licks its lips and tries again, a little louder. “Hurts. It – still hurts.”

 

Arthur takes a sip of coffee and notes the words down, what little use they are.

 

“Can you hear me?” says the creature. Arthur writes that down too, even if it’s probably just mindless ramblings. “I know you’re there. I saw you. Won’t you – won’t you at least talk to me?”

 

 _Subject surprisingly coherent_ , Arthur notes down. He hears a little whine from the other side of the bars.

 

“Please?” says the creature in a tiny voice. “Please talk to me. Can’t sleep. Just want – I know you’re there. I was alone but now I’m not and I know you’re there.”

 

“Oh _shut up_ ,” Arthur mutters, teeth gritted. He keeps his eyes fixed on his notes.  
 

Silence. Then, “I don’t want to.”

 

Arthur turns to look at the creature, and finds it sitting up a little, propped up on one elbow, eyes open, staring right at him.

 

“You’ll do as you’re told,” he says. It’s still shaking slightly from earlier. He pays no attention.

 

“No, I won’t,” it says. It drags itself up and crawls over to the bars. Wraps a hand around one. “Can’t sleep. The light’s too bright.”

 

“That’s because I’m _observing you_ ,” says Arthur.

 

“Why?” it says.

 

“For research,” he says.

 

It scoffs and slumps back down. “Fine.” Silence. Then it speaks again. “You won’t learn anything from me. I won’t let you.”

 

“We will,” says Arthur with a smile. “We always do.”

 

“How long do I have to stay here?” says the creature.

 

“A fortnight,” says Arthur.

 

“Then what happens?”

 

“Then you’re be disposed of,” says Arthur. He snaps the lid back on his pen and leans back in his chair.

 

“You’re going to kill me,” it says, with an air of resignation. It doesn’t sound at all scared.

 

“No,” says Arthur. “You kill people. You kill animals. You don’t kill _things_.”

 

“Am I a thing, then?” says the creature. Arthur nods. “Not even an animal?” He nods again. “That’s sick. _You’re_ sick.”

 

“And what you do isn’t, of course” says Arthur. He lifts his pen again. He doesn’t like this subject. It’s unusually deceptive. Slimy.

 

“I can’t help that,” says the creature. “You _chose_ to do this to me.”

 

Arthur doesn’t answer. He makes a few more notes. _Could benefit from another electroshock session_.

 

“My name’s Merlin,” says the creature.

 

“Not any more,” says Arthur. “You’ve been designated M34.”

 

“Fine, whatever,” says the creature. “I’m M34. What’s your name?”

 

“Oh, no no no.” Arthur swings around in his chair, one finger raised. “No, you don’t. You’re not hearing that.”

 

“I wouldn’t use it,” says Mer- the creature. “Don’t know how.” It yawns, closes its eyes.

 

“What are you doing?” says Arthur.

 

“Sleeping,” it says. “I’m tired. Can’t you turn out the lights?”

 

“No,” says Arthur. He underlines the note about electroshock. This one _definitely_ deserves it, he decides.

 

The creature murmurs a response. There’s silence for half an hour or so.

 

Then it starts to hum. It’s fragmented and out of tune, but it sounds almost like a lullaby.

 

“What the hell is that?” says Arthur.

 

“My mum used to sing that to me when I was a kid,” says the creature. “I want to go to sleep.” He pauses for a moment. “I don’t want to wake up. Two weeks, you said?”  
 

“Yes,” says Arthur.

 

“More of the same?” says the creature.

 

“Probably,” says Arthur.

 

There’s a long pause. Then it speaks again. “You could – you could end it sooner,” it says. “I’d rather that then – than this. For two weeks. Couldn’t take another moment of that.”

 

Arthur doesn’t answer. He sits and stares at his notes, trying to focus on his work and not on the cold feeling in his gut.

 

When the creature’s breathing slows down he lets out a sigh of relief.

 

*

 

 

But by eleven o’clock the next morning, after having grabbed a few hours of sleep, he’s feeling perfectly normal again. He tells himself over and over that it meant nothing, that it was just a particularly clever one, and therefore he should hate it even more, until he (almost) believes it.

 

He whistles as he struts into the lab to look at their latest subject’s blood reports. He cheerfully gives the techs a few pointers as to how best to keep ~~him~~ _it_ under control. He signs the paperwork to have an older subject disposed of with a flourish. He eats lunch at his desk while typing up a report for his father. All in all, everything is normal.

 

Until that afternoon. Until he heads back to the electroshock room to carry out subject M34’s second session. He finds himself hesitating with his hand on the doorhandle, wondering if, perhaps, he should call it off.

 

But no. He’s seen from the scans that this _creature_ is capable of far more than what they’ve see. And they need visual proof. They need to know exactly what these monsters are capable of so they can combat them. He knows that.

 

He sighs and pushes open the doors. The subject is already strapped down, still slightly sedated, eyelids fluttering a little.

 

“Right,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Is it still asleep? It needs to be awake.” He looks pointedly at Lance.

 

“Sorry,” says Lance. “It was giving us some trouble earlier, so we had to dope it. It’ll come round soon enough.” He turns to tap at the computer keyboard. “Are we going to try for pyro today, then?”

 

“Seems logical,” says Arthur, tugging on his gloves. “He might not actually be able to do everything he’s capable of yet, after all.”

  
“He, Doctor?” says Lance, looking at him, eyebrows raised.

 

Arthur’s heart sinks. “It,” he says. “I meant it. Slip of the tongue, that’s all.”

 

Lance doesn’t look convinced at all, but he turns back to the computer. Thankfully no-one else seems to have noticed. He lets out a sigh of relief, and turns his attention to the subject.

 

“Definitely still sedated, then?” he says to Lance.

 

“Yeah,” Lance replies. “Heartrate slow, but rising. It should only be a few minutes.”  
 

Arthur rests a hand on the creature’s forehead, pulls back one fluttering eyelid gently. He slips his little torch out of his pocket and shines the light into it, watches its pupils grow and shrink.

 

Then it flinches back away from the light with a little moan. He jerks back and flicks off his torch.

 

“It’s awake,” he says, turning away. “Are we all ready to start?”

 

“Please don’t,” says a tiny voice behind him.

 

“What are we looking for, exactly?” says a tech, crossing the room to gingerly tape wires to the subject’s head.

 

“Pyrokinesis,” says Arthur. “So this could be dangerous. I want everyone but our computer… person…” He should really learn Lance’s title. “And –” he casts around, picks out the curly-haired tech from the day before. “You,” he says, pointing at her. “You stay. Everyone else go.”

 

“Me?” she says as they all file out. The door slams.

 

“Yes,” he says, opening up the subject’s file again. “Put on some gloves and check over that wiring, will you?” She nods and hastens to obey.

 

“You could just ask,” says the tiny voice again. “I’ll show you if you ask. I’d rather that than _this_. ”

 

Arthur considers telling it to shut up, but decides that acknowledging it would be a very bad idea.

 

“What time is it?” it says. “Is it still today or is it tomorrow?”

 

Silence. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” says the tech after a moment.

 

Arthur slams the file shut. “Don’t encourage it!” he snaps at her.

 

“Yes, Doctor,” she says. She adjusts one last wire, then steps back. “He’s ready.”

 

“No, I’m not,” says the subject. Arthur rolls his eyes and nods at Lance.

 

He pulls the lever.

 

*

 

 

The creature spasms as the electricity surges through his body. His screams come in short, sharp bursts. They’re harsh, animal sounds, but Arthur’s used to that. He doesn’t at all want to cover his ears like the curlyhaired tech is doing.

 

He turns to Lance. “Up –” He’s drowned out by another burst of screaming from the creature. “Up the voltage. We’re not getting anything.”

 

Lance nods and twists a dial. The creature arches in his restraints. Arthur thinks perhaps the room shakes slightly, but that’s all. No levitation, and certainly no fire. It’s almost as if he’s adapting ( _it’s_ adapting. Not he, never he. That’s the kind of thinking that leads to nervous breakdowns and early retirements, and Arthur just can’t afford that).

 

“More,” he says to Lance.

 

He hesitates, looks at his superior for a moment as if he might change his mind, but Arthur gestures for him to go on. Lance shrugs and twists the dial a little higher.

 

The creature’s screams fade to a low whine. Its hands are clenched into fists and there’s blood running down its chin, as if it’s bitten through its bottom lip, but it still doesn’t break.

 

“Little higher,” he says to Lance, motioning with his hand. Lance looks distinctly concerned. He realises belatedly that his tone hadn’t been as stoically professional as he’d intended. He turns and glances at Lance until he twists the dial a little higher.

 

The creature jerks once – twice – then goes limp.

 

“Doctor?” says the tech. “Doctor, I think –”

 

“Be quiet,” Arthur snarls. Behind him, the equipment powers down. He swings around and finds Lance’s hand still on the dial. “What the hell was that?”

 

“I only thought –” Lance says.

 

“You thought _what?_ ” says Arthur.

 

“Well, we weren’t getting anywhere, and I didn’t think you’d want to do permanent damage.”

 

Arthur gestures at him sharply with one finger, mouth open to deliver an admonishment, but then his words sink in, and he’s _right_. He should have stopped sooner. “Alright,” he says, letting his hand fall. “Fine. But next time, ask me first.”

 

“Yes, sir,” says Lance. “Shall I check its vitals?”

 

“Go ahead,” says Arthur. He has a horrible feeling that he’s done something very bad. Crossed a line. “I… have to go and see to something.” He backs away towards the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

 

Once outside, he leans his forehead against the wall for a moment (it’s nice and cool, the electroshock machines tend to make the room get very hot), then composes himself and walks down the corridor to the bathroom.

 

When he gets there, he locks himself firmly into the cubical, kneels down on the floor, and is violently sick into the toilet bowl.

 

*

 

By the time he wanders back to the electroshock room, cleaned up as best he can, it’s half an hour later and the equipment is all but powered down.

 

“So I suppose you decided we weren’t going to try again today, then,” he says to Lance, standing framed in the doorway.

 

“I thought it best,” says Lance. “But I can always – if you want to –”

 

“Leave it,” says Arthur. He nods at the subject. “Is it alright?”

 

“I think maybe we should have one of the medics check it over before we try again,” says Lance. “Shall I call for the orderlies?”

 

Arthur nods. “Then take a break, alright?” Lance grins at him as he walks towards the door.

 

Once he’s gone, Arthur walks over to the table and tugs the wires away from the subject’s forehead. It winces and opens its eyes.

 

“Not a word from you,” says Arthur, coiling the wires in his hand. “I don’t give a damn.”

 

He turns and walks away towards the shelf where the wires are kept. Then he hears a little voice from behind him again, just one word – _liar_.

 

He swings round, mouth open to argue, but the subject’s eyes are closed. He looks asleep. Like he hasn’t spoken. Arthur almost hopes he did (he’d hate to think he’d imagined that).

 

*

 

It’s definitely awake by the time they bring it back to it’s cell. Awake and wide-eyed and struggling despite what just happened to it. Arthur’s surprised. Most subjects are barely conscious by this point. This one really is something special, he supposes.

 

He watches as the orderlies fling him down onto the floor of the cell, then stand back and dust their hands off. He clears his throat. “That’ll be all,” he says. “I’ll finish off.”  
 

The creature on the floor – the pitiful, bedraggled creature – is staring up at him. There’s something wild and unnerving in his gaze.

 

“Just as a warning,” he says, gesturing at it with its file. “If you were doing that on purpose. Don’t. It makes things worse. For everyone.” He turns to walk out the room.

 

“I’m not going to give in to you!” it calls after him, gasping. “I won’t.” Arthur can hear the pain in his voice. It doesn’t make him want to run to the bathroom again.  
 

He swings around. “Fine,” he says, opening the subject’s file with a snap. “I’ll help you along.” He slams it up against the wall and tugs a pen out of his pocket. “Y’know what I’m writing?”

 

“No,” says the creature.

 

“I’m writing,” says Arthur. “That until you give us what we need, you’re not to be fed.” He finishes adding the note and clicks his pen shut. “There. I hope that makes you happy.”

 

“Positively joyous,” snarls the subject. Arthur turns to leave again, smiling to himself. He hears a little thud behind him – it slumping down to the floor, he supposes.

 

He meets the curlyhaired tech just outside. She looks as if she may have been crying.  
 

He rolls his eyes. “You,” he says. “What was your name again?”

 

“Gwen, Doctor Pendragon,” she says.

 

“Right,” he says, handing her the file. “I’ve ordered that M34 isn’t to be fed for a few days. It should get his defences down. Make things easier for us. See it’s done, will you?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, hugging the file to her chest. She looks him in the eye for a long moment. “If you don’t mind my asking, are you alright? You don’t look well.”

 

“I’m fine,” says Arthur. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

*

 

He spends the rest of the afternoon working with a subject who’d burned down a building in Manchester a month ago. He watches the proceedings, and to his relief he doesn’t feel a thing.

 

*

 

He doesn’t see subject M34 again for three days. He ordered that it be left in its room, alone, and this is taken to heart by all.

 

Once the three days are up, he marches into the cell, shoes clicking on the shiny white floor, crosses his arms and stares at it.

 

Unfortunately it’s huddled in the corner with its back to him, so it doesn’t seem to realise he’s there. Arthur’s just opened his mouth up to speak when:

 

“I did offer,” it says. Its voice is slow, emotionless.

 

“Offer what?” says Arthur.

 

“To show you,” says Merlin. “But you refused. You didn’t let me. You did this instead.”

 

“We don’t negotiate with you people,” says Arthur.

 

“Oh, so _now_ we’re people,” says the subject. He rolls over (though it’s more of an ungainly slump) and stares at Arthur. He looks so gaunt and hollow-eyed that it… doesn’t affect Arthur in the slightest, of course.

 

“Are you hungry?” says Arthur. It nods. “Good,” he says. He swings around and marches towards the door. “Bring him to the electroshock room,” he says to the orderly outside.

 

*

 

The subject is shaking violently an hour later when he’s flung back into his cell. Arthur storms in after him, dismisses the orderlies, waits until they’re definitely out of earshot, then turns on him.

 

“Why?” he says. “Why are you doing this? I _know_ you can do it,” he waves the file around wildly. “It’s all right here. People have _seen it_. Why won’t you do it now? Do you want to starve yourself, is that what it is?”

 

The subject shrugs, raises his head slightly. “Does starvation take less than two weeks?” it says, voice slurred.

 

Arthur lets out an enraged sigh, reeling backwards, hands tangled in his own hair. “Why?” he snarls.

 

“Because I don’t want to,” the subject spits out. It slumps back down and closes its eyes.

 

“Well, _fine_ ,” says Arthur. “See if I care. We’ll get what we want one way or another.”  
 

“ _We_ will, will we?” murmurs the subject. Arthur turns to leave, but looks around when he hears a soft noise behind him.

 

The subject is pulling itself to its feet, teeth gritted. It looks about to fall, but it manages it, somehow, standing tall and tottering in the middle of the cell. He’s actually a little taller than Arthur. He only just noticed.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” says the subject. “You’re thinking it’s not you that’s doing this. It’s _us_. Everyone. Not your fault ’cause everyone’s doing it. You just give the orders.” He breaks off, takes a deep breath, and steps forward. “But it is you, you know. I can tell. You don’t give a damn about the research.” It… he… _it_ takes a few steps closers. “You’re just fucked up.”

 

Arthur shoves him backwards, sends him sprawling out across the floor, and glares down at it. “You have no right to talk to me that way,” he says. “You have no right to _talk_ , do you understand? You can give us what we want, or you can starve to death. Your choice.”

 

He turns to leave yet again. But then he hears a faint mutter behind him and the room lights up gold. He turns around slowly.

 

The subject is curled up on the floor, body forming an arc around a little golden fire, burning cheerfully away on nothing but air. A dopey sort of smile is spreading across his face.

 

It’s… beautiful.

 

Arthur’s eyes flick to the security camera in the corner, makes sure it’s running, then takes a step forward.

 

“That what you want?” says the subject, so softly that he can hardly hear it.

 

He nods. “Yes,” he says.

 

“Good,” says the subject. He closes his eyes. The fire goes out. “Can I have something to eat now?”

 

*

 

He picks up a new labcoat from the store room on his way out of the building that night. Once home, he strips completely, walks into the kitchen, and slings everything he’d worn that day into the dustbin.

 

He feels a lot better for it.

 

*

 

He comes in to work the next morning to find a newspaper already on his desk, with a postit note from Lance stuck to it – _page four_. He sinks down into his chair and flips it open.

 

He sees what looks like an old school photograph of the subject alongside an article with the headline _My Son Is Not A Monster!_ He skimreads it, then slumps backwards, rubbing his forehead. He really doesn’t need this. And his father will be reading it about now…

 

As he waits for the irate phone call, his gaze falls on a framed photograph on the corner of his desk, half hidden by a pot plant. It’s him aged twelve, and… his sister. But his sister is dead, of course.

 

The phone rings. He reaches for his headset with a sigh. “Hello?”

 

“Arthur,” says his father’s voice (calm, measured, hiding his anger well). “Would you care to explain why your facility is in the morning paper?”

 

“I have no idea,” he says. “I don’t know what happened.”

 

“But you spoke to this woman, I assume?” says his father.

 

“Well… yes,” he says. “She said a whole lot about how she’d stop us from keeping the subject, but… well, I didn’t think she meant it!”

 

“Clearly she’s better connected that you thought,” says his father. “You should have detained her.”

 

Arthur suppresses a groan. “What possible justification could I have given her for that?” he says. “I think that would’ve made things _worse_ , father.”

 

“Even so,” says his father. “We can’t afford the negative publicity. See to it that no one else runs an article like this, will you?”

 

“Of course, father,” says Arthur. He notes that down. He’ll get Lance on it later.  
 

“How is the subject?” says his father. “Progressing as expected?”

 

“Slower,” says Arthur. “It’s… stubborn. But we’re getting there.” He falls silent, twists his pen in his hand. His gaze falls on the photo again. “If you don’t mind my asking… how’s G13 progressing?”

 

Silence. Then, “That’s classified, Arthur, you know that.”

 

“Of course,” says Arthur. “But… you’re still working with… that particular subject?”

 

“Yes,” says his father. “See to the papers, will you?” He hangs up the phone. Arthur flicks his headset off and shouts for Lance.

 

*

 

They bring in another new subject half an hour later, a young female screaming about how they killed her father, spitting abuse in his face. As he sedates her, she’s gabbling that she’s going to be immortal and they’re not going to stop her.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/4920.html?thread=1899832#t1899832) at [](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/profile)[**kinkme_merlin**](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/). Beta'd by [](http://heriros.livejournal.com/profile)[**heriros**](http://heriros.livejournal.com/) . Was originally posted on the kink meme as _Surprisingly Coherent_ , but has been re-titled, and now has an epilogue. EDIT: The epilogue has been removed and re-posted as the opening of the sequel, [All the King's Horses.](http://community.livejournal.com/merlinfic/530796.html)

They don’t have another session with M34 until the next day. He leaves it alone in its cell for a while longer before having it brought out and strapped to the table in the cold room. He tells himself that he delayed only because he really fucking hates working in the cold room (but it’s necessary, of course, seeing as how ineffective electrocution’s been so far).  
 

He stands and shivers in his padded jacket and waits for the creature to do something new.  
 

At first, he thinks nothing’s happening. The subject just lies there, breath steaming in front of him, eyes tightly shut. Arthur thinks maybe he sees his tongue dart out briefly to wet his lips, but that’s all.  
 

Until he realises that its breathing is strangely even, that it stopped shaking twenty minutes ago. He presses on gloved hand against its bare arm, and finds it pleasantly warm. “What are you doing?” he says.  
 

It opens one eye and stares up at him. He has a suspicion that look is meant to mean _you’re an idiot_. He grits his teeth. “Well?”  
 

“I hate being cold,” it says simply. “Always did. Were you hoping for something more dramatic?”  
 

“Fine,” says Arthur. He nods to the tech in the corner and marches out of the room. In the corridor he strips off his gloves and makes a note for a session tomorrow.  
 

 _Sensory deprivation_.  
 

*  
  
 

He watches the subject over the security camera, in grainy, green-tinted night vision. For the first three and a half hours, he just lies on the floor, curled up in a way that’s becoming all too familiar.  
 

But then he speaks. “I know you’re watching me,” he says. And for a moment Arthur is impressed. He thinks that maybe it’s tough enough to withstand this. But then it rolls over onto its back and laughs wildly.  
 

An hour later, he’s muttering to himself, just quietly enough that none of them can make out the words. Arthur thinks maybe he catches _lights are out now_ and _stay focused_ , but that’s all.  
 

When Arthur comes back from his lunch break, it’s drawing glowing patterns in the air above its head with one trailing hand. He can still hear it murmuring to itself softly.  
 

“Are we recording this?” he says to Gwen.  
 

“Yes,” she says quietly. She reaches out one hand to touch the screen. “How long should he stay there for?”  
 

Arthur shrugs. “We’re getting results now,” he says. “Wait a while longer, though. A full day is standard.” He glances at the screens and tries not to let his gaze linger. He has another subject to deal with, after all. “I have an exploratory to do,” he says to her. “Make sure you get everything recorded. Page me if he does anything new.”  
 

“Yes, Doctor,” she says, flicking a switch.  
 

Despite his best efforts, he looks at the screen for a long time before leaving. The subject is drawing a lopsided dragon in the air. He looks so childlike that Arthur feels his chest tighten.  
 

*  
 

The next morning, once he’s looked through the footage and typed up a report, he decides that he should oversee M34’s release himself. It’s always a good idea to have a hold on a subject’s mental state.  
 

The creature blinks a lot in the light – it must seem so very bright after a full twentyfour hours without – as he’s led back to his own cell, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes are downcast. He doesn’t say a word until he’s slumped on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him. He looks like a broken puppet.  
 

It. _It_ looks like a broken puppet. Puppets are things. Inanimate objects.  
 

Arthur shakes himself, and signs the release form. “Keep the subject under observation,” he says to Gwen.  
 

“Subject,” says a voice behind him. He ignores it.  
 

“Yes, Doctor,” she says. “Any other orders? For M34, I mean?”  
 

“Subject.” The voice is louder this time. He hears a slight _thud_ , but ignores it.  
 

“Not just yet,” he says. “But I think M35 should be –”  
 

“Doctor?” she says, pointing at something behind him.  
 

He turns. M34 has pulled himself to his feet again. “That’s not my name,” it says. “Not – it’s not my name.”  
 

“Ignore him,” Arthur says to Gwen.  
 

“Call me by my name,” it says, pleading. “Please?”  
 

“Yes, Doctor,” she says hurriedly, noting something down on her clipboard. “Shall I leave?”  
 

“Oh God, _call me by my name!_ ” he shouts behind them. “Please! Oh God, please!” He sinks down to his knees, but keeps coming forward, crawling towards them. “Say it – please, say my name – say I’m a person – I exist, I’m here, I know I am – please, just call me by my name –”  
 

Arthur stares down at him. He opens his mouth to call for an orderly, but no sound comes out. He hears Gwen call out behind him, calling for someone to sedate M34.  
 

“That’s not my name!” he howls. “Please!” His voice drops down as he stares up at Arthur. “Please, I told you my name – I remember – please, I know you know you know oh God _please…_ ”  
 

Gwen shouts out the door again. Her voice is shaking.  
 

“ _Call me by my name!_ ” it yells. He yells. _Merlin_ yells. “Please! Oh God, please, just say it!”  
 

Arthur still can’t find his tongue. Not until two orderlies and a lab tech clutching a syringe rush past him. Then he forces himself to speak. “Dope him,” he says. He realises his mistake a moment to late, mentally curses himself.  
 

The subject screams. “No!” he shouts. “No, no, no! Don’t put that stuff in my veins, don’t put that stuff _oh God please no_.” He reaches out for Arthur as he struggles, one grasping hand. “Please,” he says, voice weakening. “Say my name.”  
 

Arthur is silent. He grabs Gwen by the arm and drags her out of the room. He thinks he hears her sob, but pretends not to notice. He doesn’t want to have to reprimand her.  
 

“I’m sorry,” she gasps out once the door’s closed behind them. “I –”  
 

“I’m going to have you transferred to a different subject,” Arthur says. His voice hardly shakes at all. He’s proud of himself. “I don’t want you working with M34. You’re still pretty new around here. It’s too stressful for you.” He pulls a notebook out of his pocket. “If you like I can recommend that you be given a session with one of the therapists.”  
 

Gwen takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and wipes her face. “Thank you, Doctor,” she says. He nods, writes her a note. “But what about you?” she says.  
 

“What do you mean, what about me?” he says, signing his name.  
 

“Are you alright?” she says. “You looked a bit – you didn’t seem well in there.”  
 

“I’m fine, Gwen,” he says, tearing the sheet out of the notebook. “I’m used to this, remember.” He hands her the note. “There. Go and see a therapist, then take the rest of the day off. I want to see you here on time tomorrow, though.”  
 

She nods. “Of course.” She folds the note away into her pocket. “Thank you, Doctor.” She twists her face into a smile. He forces a grin, claps her on the shoulder, and walks away.  
 

*  
 

She’s still there after lunch, though. He finds her standing staring at the security footage of the subject’s cell. It’s curled up in a ball on the floor, arms wrapped around its knees, eyes tightly shut. His lips are moving. He might be speaking. It’s hard to tell.  
 

“I thought I told you to go home,” he says. She has Merlin’s file open in her hands. He plucks it out of her unresisting grasp.  
 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I saw the therapist. He said the same. I’ll go home in a few minutes. I will.” She turns her gaze back to the screen. “It’s just… it’s like we’ve broken him.”  
 

“Now, Gwen,” he says, gesturing at her with the file. Her words send a chill down his spine. He ignores it.  
 

Her gaze remains fixed on the screen. The creature’s words sudden grows louder.  
 

“ _I know you’re there!_ ” he cries out. His voice drops down a little lower, but it’s still audible. “ _I haven’t, I haven’t done anything wrong, I swear…_ ”  
 

“Gwen,” says Arthur. He gives her a little shake. “Go home. And don’t have anything to do with M34 again, or I’ll have you reprimanded.”  
 

“Yes, sir,” she says. She risks one last glance at the screen, then turns and hurries out of the room.  
 

In his cell ~~Merlin~~ M34 slumps down onto his side, still muttering to himself.  
 

*  
 

That night, he sits alone in his flat and gets quite spectacularly drunk. He does that a lot. It’s bad for him, he knows, but he’s a doctor. He knows his limits.  
 

*  
 

The next day, he walks into M34’s cell, reaches into his pocket, and hits a button on a little remote control. The light on the security camera goes out.  
 

“Right,” he says, making sure the door is shut and locked behind him. He adjusts his lab coat and kneels down next to the subject. “You and me need to talk.”  
 

“Whatever it is, the answer’s no,” says the subject. His voice is low and emotionless.  
 

“Just let me speak, will you?” says Arthur. “I want you to tell me what happened.”  
 

“Pain,” whispers the subject.  
 

“Before that,” says Arthur. “You did something. Something that got you caught. I want you to tell me what happened. Can you do that?”  
 

“Not sure,” says the subject. He licks his lips. “Maybe. It was… how long has it been? Is it… still today?”  
 

“You’ve been here nine days,” says Arthur.  
 

“So not long left, then?” says the creature. M34. “Is it nearly over?”  
 

“Not long now,” says Arthur. “No. Fortunately for you. Now can you tell me what happened?”  
 

“’M’not sure,” it says. “S’hazy. Long time ago. I wasn’t… I’d been drinking.”  
 

“You attacked someone?” says Arthur. It’s what he’s been assuming. He hopes to God he’s right.  
 

M34 shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, I was – I was outside the union with… someone, I don’t know who, and there was… there was this girl, and a guy, and he was, he was hassling her, he wouldn’t leave her alone, she kept saying she wasn’t interested, but…” He breaks off and swallows. “So I went over and said leave her be, but he just laughed and started touching her, trying to kiss her or something, so then, then I hit him,” it says.  
 

“And then what happened?” says Arthur.  
 

He shrugs. “I dunno. Don’t really… don’t remember. I was angry and drunk and I lost control. I think maybe I set him on fire, I don’t know.”  
 

“That’s what our reports say,” says Arthur.  
 

“And they’re always right,” says Merlin. “They… they came for me next morning. Took me in my pyjamas.” He lets out a little sob.  
 

Arthur wants to believe him. He does. But he also hopes it’s bullshit, because if it’s not, then, then…  
 

He starts to feel slightly sick. “I’m sorry?” he says. It sounds like a question.  
 

Merlin heaves a great sigh, opens his eyes, and pulls himself up the best he can. “Why?” he says. “Why did you do this? I don’t understand any more. I don’t… I had a life. I had friends. I was –” He closes his eyes for a moment, then carries on. “I was going to be a teacher. I had a life. You took it all away.”  
 

“It wasn’t me,” says Arthur. It sounds hollow.  
 

“Took it away and burned it all,” says Merlin. There are tears in his eyes now. “All comes crashing down on you. I was so _careful_. I was always careful. And I slip up once and you do this.” He gasps for breath, turns his tearstained face upwards. “I just… I just want my life back.”  
 

Arthur’s not sure what to say to that. He stares at Merlin and Merlin stares back. Then he slumps down onto the floor with a sigh. “Doesn’t matter any more,” he says. “Few more days, yeah? Then that’s it? Over?”  
 

“Yes,” says Arthur softly. Merlin closes his eyes. He reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder – he wants to comfort him, however wrong that might be – but holds back. He’s not wearing his gloves.  
 

He stands up, steps back, away from the subject. Switches the cameras back on and leaves it alone.  
 

*  
 

_Merlin wakes up in the morning with no idea what had happened the night before and a hangover._  
  


__

_He groans and stretches out. He can’t have been that drunk. He managed to get his pyjamas on. But then again, his shirt is dangling from the lamp._  
  


__

_To the best of his knowledge (which is hard to rely on right now) he doesn’t have any lectures till three. The clock, which he thinks he can rely on, says five past eleven. He figures he can stay in bed a little longer, and rolls over._  
  


__

_He hears someone shouting outside, but that’s not uncommon. He starts to drift off, sleepily content. He thinks that he shall sleep till half two, then get up and buy some coffee on the way to his lecture._  
  


__

_Then he’s startled awake again by a sudden and obnoxiously loud banging on the door. “Open up!” shouts an unfamiliar voice._  
  


__

_Dread pools in his stomach. He vaguely recalls having got into a fight last night. This can’t be good news. He stays sprawled across his bed for a moment or two, until whoever it is bangs on the door again._  
  


__

_“Alright, alright!” he mutters as he pulls himself out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes._  
  


__

_Outside in the corridor are two grimfaced men in a uniform which looks familiar, but he couldn’t say from where right now. There’s also a little gaggle of pale, curious onlookers._  
  


__

_“Merlin Emrys?” says one of the men._  
  


__

_“Yes?” he says. He gulps._  
  


__

_The man unholsters a gun. “Step outside,” he says coldly. “Hands above your head.”_  
  


__

_“What?” says Merlin. His head is pounding. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on._  
  


_“Don’t act stupid,” says the other man. “You know damn well what we’re here for.”_  
  


__

_Merlin stares at them for another puzzled moment._  
  


__

_Then he remembers._  
  


__

_He tries to slam the door – he has a vague idea that he might be able to get away out the window – but they’re too quick for him. They force it back open and drag him out in the corridor._  
  


__

_“It was an accident, alright?” he says as they wrestle his hands behind his back. “I didn’t mean to do it!” He says as they try to force him to walk down the corridor. He kicks back at them, but they dodge. “It won’t happen again, I swear,” he says as he takes a desperate, glancing hold on the banister._  
  


__

_There are people watching in the stairwell, and he_ knows _them – there’s the girl from the room next door, the boy he used to see eating his lunch on the library steps all the time, someone who helped him find a book in his first week –_  
  


__

_He shouts at the desperately as he’s dragged past, but they stand frozen. Silent. One of them whispers something to her friend._  
  


__

_His legs are numb. He can hardly walk, and the men don’t like that. They snap at him and tug harder on his arms. His ankle catches on the wall as they turned the corner, and it hurts._  
  


__

_Nobody is speaking but him. When he pauses in his frantic shouts to take a breath it’s near silent._  
  


__

_“Where are you taking me?” he pants as they pull him out the open door of the building. He feels a breeze on his face for what turns out to be the last time. The two men exchange glances, but say nothing. They just keep dragging him towards their black van (he recognises the logo on the side, and he recognises their uniforms now. His heart sinks). “No,” he says. There are more of them standing around outside. “Please, no, not that…”_  
  


__

_Then he hears a yell behind him. His heart leaps. He twists his head around desperately and sees Will charging down the steps towards him. “Merlin!” he shouts. “Hey! Let him go!”_  
  


__

_The man holding his left arm jerks his head, sends another man to deal with him._  
  


_“Look, you don’t understand,” he hears Will say as he dodges the man trying to take hold of his arms. “I saw the whole thing, alright? It’s not what you think – Merlin would never hurt anyone, honest –”_  
  


__

_The man finally gets a hold on him, but he rips free of it and runs forward. “Merlin!” he shouts._  
  


__

_“Will,” he says as they bundle him up the step into the van. “Oh God, help me…” He struggles against the handcuffs, wills them open. There’s a click and they’re dangling loosely. He can fight back again. He pulls one arm free, swings around, and reaches out._  
  


__

_Their fingers just brush as they doors of the van close, plunging him into darkness._  
  


__

*  
 

Arthur marches to M34’s cell, ignoring the demands of the guard on duty outside to know what he’s doing. He’s a man with a mission, after all. He unlocks the door and walks right in, over to where the subject – Merlin – is crouched on the floor. He looks up at him with wide, frightened eyes.  
 

He kneels down next to him and smiles. “It’s alright now,” he says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I’m taking you out of here.” He pulls Merlin into a hug, presses his face into his chest. “Everything’s going to be alright.”  
 

He pulls him up to his feet – he’s unsteady, limping, but that’s okay, Arthur can deal with that – and towards the door. He’s going to take him right out of here, take him home, give him to his mother and she’ll be so _grateful_ , they both will, and –  
 

“Doctor?” says a voice. He blinks once, twice and looks around. Lance is standing in the corner of the electroshock room, hands on the dials. Merlin is strapped to the table in from of him, staring blankly up at the ceiling.  
 

“Are we ready to start?” says Lance.  
 

Arthur nods at him. “Begin.”  
 

Lance pulls the lever.  
 

Merlin screams.  
 

*  
 

“I’m worried about you,” says Lance afterwards as they standing drinking coffee in the break room.  
 

“Hmm?” says Arthur.  
 

“Have you thought about seeing one of the therapists?” says Lance. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. They’re there for a reason.”  
 

“I’m fine,” says Arthur. “Really.”  
 

“Well, I was thinking maybe you should take a breather,” says Lance. “Once this two weeks are up. Take your mind of things. Take a week’s holiday. I might do the same myself. It’s been a stressful week.”  
 

“Eleven days,” says Arthur blankly.  
 

“Something’s not right,” says Lance. “Come on. You can talk to me.” Arthur looks at him. He looks back, one eyebrow raised. “Eh?”  
 

“I just,” says Arthur. He breaks off and sighs. When he speaks again he keeps his voice low. “I just… I don’t want to do this any more.”  
 

“Now don’t start that,” says Lance. He takes a sip of his coffee. “This is a bad one, I know, but you’ll be fine. Take a breather. You’ll see. You’ll be fine after that.” Arthur must look as uncertain as he feels. “C’mon. What happened to the mission?”  
 

“I wish I knew,” says Arthur.  
 

*  
 

The phone rings the next morning (day twelve, just two more to go). Arthur’s sitting at his desk staring off into space when it rings, jolting him out of his trance. He gropes blindly for his headset.  
 

“Hello?” he says.  
 

“I suppose,” says a familiar voice. “That you had something to do with this?”  
 

“Mrs Emrys,” he says. “It’s a pleasure.”  
 

“Don’t start that,” she says. “I want the truth. Did you do this?”  
 

“If you’re referring to the papers, then yes,” he says. “I’m afraid so.”  
 

“Whatever happened to free speech, Doctor Pendragon?” she says.  
 

“Hell if I know,” he says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I’m a very busy man, Mrs Emrys. Is there anything I can do for you, or are you just calling to complain? Because we don’t exactly have a suggestion box.”  
 

“How’s Merlin?” she says. Arthur sits in silence for a moment, then gets up and closes his door.  
 

“As well as can be expected,” he says.  
 

“What have you done to him?” she says. He doesn’t answer. “Can I see him?”  
 

“I wish I could let you see him,” he says. “I honestly do. But that’s just not possible. I could lose my job, Mrs Emrys.”  
 

“Which is much more important, of course,” she says.  
 

“It could be,” he says. He sinks back down into his chair. “I can pass on a message to him. If you’re comfortable doing that.”  
 

She’s silent. He thinks maybe he can hear her breathing down the phone. “What happened to ‘the test subject’?” she says. “What changed?”  
 

“That’s classified,” he says, deadpan. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs Emrys. Really, I am.”  
 

She’s silent again. The phone line crackles at him. Hums away contentedly. “Just,” she says after a long, long moment. “Just… tell him I love him. And I’m proud of him. That’s all.”  
 

“I’ll try,” he says. “I’ll do my best.”  
 

“Thank you,” she says.  
 

Silence. _Click_.  
 

Arthur switches off his headseat and muffles a groan with his hands.  
 

*  
 

He doesn’t go near M34 – Merlin – whatever he’s called – for the rest of the day. He can’t quite bring himself to. He knows there’s more experiments they need to try before the fortnight is up, but there’s always tomorrow. Someone asks his permission to carry out another session, and he grants it with nary a thought.  
 

There’s always tomorrow.  
 

*  
 

He arrives at work the next morning to find that someone’s already put his orders to practice. Merlin is out of his cell, and strapped to the table in a different room. He’s restless today, but nothing like the fighter he was when he first arrived. He’s not sedated. He doesn’t need to be any more.  
 

“The ceiling’s a different colour in here,” he remarks as Arthur walks in.  
 

“Whatever,” he says, and turns to Lance. “Start up the machine.” He nods at one of the techs. “Get the mask on.”  
 

His stomach feels like it’s full of lead. Hollow lead. Leaden butterflies. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. Why he doesn’t order them to stop. He feels like he’s moving on rails.  
 

Merlin struggles as the mask is pulled over his head, tries vainly to get away, but he’s held down by the restraints, so he has to relent. Arthur nods at Lance. He flicks a switch. There’s a faint wheeze as the mask begins to work.  
 

Merlin’s eyes flick back and forth wildly. He has no idea what they’re doing. Arthur watches, transfixed, watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, until Lance elbows him in the ribs, and says, “Shall I go on, Doctor?”  
 

He hesitates for a long time before he nods.  
 

The wheeze of the mask cuts out. He hears an alarmed, muffled yelp from beneath it as Merlin realises what’s happened. Then he starts to pull at the restraints frantically, shaking his head, trying to dislodge it. With the mask on he can’t breath. Arthur’s not sure he can either.  
 

He stands and stares and wills Merlin not to give in to this. He’s watched subjects give in and allow themselves to be suffocated before.  
 

But Merlin keeps fighting, tearing at the restraints. It looks for a moment like he might actually get a hand free, but then a tech darts forward and straps him back down. He can’t do it that way. He has to realise what they want him to do. Doesn’t he?  
 

His eyes are rolling back in his head. Arthur realises he’s muttering under his breath – _come on, come on_ – willing Merlin to live.  
 

His eyes slide closed. He goes lax. For a moment Arthur thinks this is it, it’s over, finished early, and his whole body is suddenly numb with shock (and more than a trace of relief).  
 

Then the mask falls away, leaving Merlin’s face bare and gasping for breath, wheezing. His eyes flick around the room and settle on Arthur. The hate there is almost palpable.  
 

“That’ll do for now,” he hears himself say. “Take him back to his cell.”  
 

*  
 

He follows the orderlies as they half-drag Merlin down the corridors. He opens up his file and pretends to be looking through that, making notes, but he’s really watching Merlin. Looking at his posture. Listening to the occasional mutters from up ahead. He can’t make out the words, but the tone is… different. _Broken_.  
 

He snaps the file shut as they reach the cell. “Leave him inside,” he says to an orderly. “I’ll lock it. There’s something I want to do first.”  
 

The orderly raises both eyebrows, but nods, steps back from the door. Arthur goes inside.  
 

Merlin is sprawled on his back on the floor, looking curiously at the ceiling, head cocked to one side, as if there’s actually something there. “I see… stars,” he says.  
 

“We’re inside,” says Arthur. “That’s the ceiling. No stars.” He kneels down. “I spoke to your mother.”  
 

“Oh?” says Merlin. He turns to look at Arthur. “She okay?”  
 

“She seems… strong,” Arthur says softly. “She said to tell you… she said to say she loves you. And she’s proud of you.”  
 

Merlin stares up at him. His gaze softens slightly. “Thanks,” he says hoarsely. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips. “Thank you.”  
 

“It’s alright,” says Arthur. He reaches out and brushes Merlin’s fringe out of his eyes with the tips of his fingers. Merlin’s eyes slip closed.  
 

“Don’t,” he says. His hands clench into fists.  
 

Arthur pulls back his hand, stands up. Backs away. “Alright,” he says. “Alright.”  
 

*

Outside in the corridor, he opens Merlin’s file and considers penning him in for one last session. It’d be a good idea, he knows. They should make good use of what time they have left.  
 

He stares at the file for a long time, at his notes. His gaze lingers on the order not to feed him. It makes him shudder now.  
 

Then he slips his pen back into his pocket and closes the file gently. Unaltered.  
 

*  
 

He stares at the photo on his desk for a long time that afternoon. Then he knocks it over, leaves it face down, where he can’t see her.  
 

She’s not dead.  
 

*  
 

He arrives the next morning like any other day, drinks his coffee, checks over some reports from his underlings. He dawdles over it, takes an hour where twenty minutes would have done. His thoughts keep drifting back to Merlin, sitting in his cell. He must know it’s today, mustn’t he? He wonders if he’s relieved.  
 

*  
 

He slots a file back onto the shelf, turns around to find Lance behind him. “Arthur?” he says.  
 

“I want M34 to be taken to the termination room,” he says slowly. “It’s been two weeks. We can’t afford… we can’t have it around any longer.”  
 

Lance nods. Doesn’t press the issue.  
 

*  
 

He follows the orderlies to the cell again. He’s not sure why. He should be in the termination room, getting things ready, but he’s leaving that to the techs.  
 

The door unlocks with a metallic _clunk_ and glides open. He follows the orderlies inside. Merlin is kneeling in the corner, face downturned, but he looks up when they come in.  
 

“S’alright,” he says to them. “It’s today.” His gaze flicks to Arthur. “End of the world. Sky’s falling.”  
 

Then he lets them take hold of his arms in gloved hands, pull him to his feet, lets himself be dragged down of the room and down the corridor. He doesn’t say a word.  
 

He lets them lead him into the termination room. Lets himself be positioned on the table. He doesn’t make a fuss when they strap down his ankles and wrists.  
 

“Get out,” Arthur says to the orderlies when it’s done. “Now.” They look shocked. His tone is harsher than it needs to be, but he doesn’t care. He waits for them to leave, then turns to Lance and the techs. “All of you,” he says. “I can take it from here.”  
 

“Are you sure, Doctor?” says Lance.  
 

“Completely,” says Arthur. He shoves Lance out of the way. Moves to Merlin’s side, lifts the little bottle and the syringe.  
 

Once the room is empty but for the two of them, Merlin tilts his head slightly and speaks. “Is this it, then?” he says softly.  
 

“Yes,” says Arthur. He tests the syringe. A little trickle of shining liquid squirts out the end.  
 

He hears Merlin swallow. “Will it hurt?”  
 

“You won’t feel a thing,” Arthur says. “Promise.” He reaches out a hesitant hand towards him. Holds back for a moment, then touches Merlin’s neck. He feels a shiver run through him. This is new. His skin is very soft and warm. But not for long, he tells himself. “Turn your head,” he says.  
 

“Before,” Merlin says. “Before you – can I ask –” He falls silent and beckons awkwardly with one hand. Arthur leans down. “Your name,” says Merlin. “Tell me your name?”  
 

Arthur hesitates for a moment, but only a moment. There’s not much Merlin can do with it now. “Arthur,” he says. “I’m Arthur.”  
 

“Hello, Arthur,” says Merlin. “I’m Merlin. It’s nice to meet you.”  
 

“You too,” says Arthur with a breathless smile. He stands up straight and turns Merlin’s head gently. Makes him look away. He can feel his pulse fluttering under his fingers.  
 

The needle slides into his neck like a knife into butter. Merlin lets out a little whimper, then falls silent as the plunger goes down. His eyes close.  
 

But only for a moment. Once Arthur’s pulled the needle out and set it down, he turns his head back, very, very slowly, and looks up at him. Arthur’s hand is on his forehead now. He strokes it idly. “Sweet dreams, Merlin,” he murmurs.  
 

Merlin smiles. He doesn’t blink.  
 

*

Arthur signs himself out early, wanders out of the building and away in the general direction of his flat. He tugs off his lab coat and slings it into the first bin he can find.  
 


End file.
